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“I’m a little bemused as to why Crowley should risk destruction for you.” Shax said, her tone icy, and Aziraphale can feel his heart pumping erratically in his chest. Just the way that she had talked about Crowley in the last few minutes had him on edge and aching to be back in the demon’s presence. He’d always felt safe with him around. “You don’t seem his type at all.” She continued.
Aziraphale can’t help but raise an eyebrow, hoping that Shax can’t notice the way the familiar blush overtakes his features. He hopes she doesn’t realize how much he is “his type”. The long nights they spent on his couch, limbs entangled and tongues still tasting of wine. Wandering hands and loose lips as they whisper endearments for only the other to hear. Shax continues, and Aziraphale can feel the way the Bentley shakes under his grip, but for the moment, he’s glad she doesn’t push the subject further. He operates terrible while under pressure and the last thing either one of them need is for him to slip up and confirm any suspicions Shax may have; concerning Gabriel or Crowley, he’s not sure which option frightens him most.